iVindictive
by The 0dd 0ne
Summary: You have always looked out for your brother. Discretely. Caring is embarrassing. Like in kindergarten, the teacher was a wazzbag so you stuck a wad of gum in his ear. He's been bullied so you did the only logical thing: you kidnapped him, beat a man with salami, & stole an ice cream truck as part of you brilliant plan to get your mom to move you guys. Now you're in Seattle. AU R
1. PROLOGUE: iMeet Satan

**PROLOGUE: iMeet Satan (and 'He' is a She)**

**FREDWARD**

"Pansy!" I hear a big, dumb bully shout at me as I run for my life.

"Dishrag!" A member of his stupid pack of bullies chucks a smelly, hobo shoe at me. I'm serious, he just called me a dishrag and chucked a shoe he stole from a hobo at me. Stupid delinquents . . .

"Freddison!" The familiar, hushed whisper shout of my twin, Ben, calls out as a fairly big hand with a crooked index finger and a few bruises pops out. I gulp, rounding the corner and taking his hand. He pulls me up to his hidden hideout, leaving confused bullies down below. I feel the wrath of my running hit, a dry and sore throat, a light head, dizziness, and a desperate need for oxygen. My gulps for breath tell Ben everything he needs to know as he sinks into the rusted bar he dubs a wall. "Be careful, Nub! Mom's going to move us to Seattle soon! Just survive a little longer . . ." He cracks open a can of Peppy Cola from his ancient, jank cooler, holding another one up with a raised eyebrow. I nod and hold out my hands for it.

"I can't wait, these delinquents are such a nuisance!" I complain, opening my soda.

"It's chiz like that that makes people call you a dishrag," Ben shakes his head, sipping from his warm cola.

"Hey!" I scowl, glaring at him. He laughs it off and tells me to get over myself, playfully nudging me with a foot. I roll my eyes, cracking a grin. We clink our cans together.

"To getting out of this dump," Ben decides after a moment of thought and tentative holding out of cans.

"Yeah . . ." I agree, trailing off thoughtfully. After a quarter hour of Ben throwing meatballs at random strangers and drinking Peppy Cola, we head home to our current apartment.

I should probably explain some things. My name is Fredward Karl Benson, Freddie for short. At school I'm the dork, the tech-geek, the loser, the teacher's pet, the mama's boy, the know-it-all, the straight A nerd. At home I'm the baby, the nub, the boob (Ben comes up with weird insults), the youngest, the sheltered twin. But now, I'm moving. All the way from sunny LA to rainy Seattle since LA's "too dangerous." I get to start anew at Ridgway, a combined school of both tiny middle schoolers like me, and intimidating high schoolers. I just hope I don't screw everything up.

The first thing Ben does after we finished unpacking our mounds of moving boxes, is quickly make his way to the fire escape. Slightly bewildered, I follow him, tentatively though - I don't want my brother falling off the fire escape. I watch him gaze down at the crowded street in sheer delight. "Can you believe it, Fredward? We have the perfect view and I have the perfect spot to throw stuff at people!" He exclaims his awe. Wait, why does he like to throw things at random civilians? What did they do to him?

"Why do you throw stuff at strangers anyways?" I ponder - I mean, seriously, who does that?

"Because they're strangers and since you've always been too much of a wimp to help me, I do it alone. Besides, I like throwing stuff," he turns to me to grin vindictively, he does that a lot.

"Okay?" I furrow my eyebrows, leaving the fire escape. Next week, we start school at Ridgeway, I need to do my research.

* * *

After managing to get my overprotective mother off my back and onto Ben's, I rush, full force, out of our new apartment. With my terrible luck, I would collide with someone. Immediately. And that someone would fall over. And I would end up straddling that someone. And of course, that someone would be a girl. And a vicious one at that.

The blonde girl, who must be around my age, glares at me with icy blue eyes. She growls. "Get. _Off_." She snarls.

It's then that puberty _would _be a chizzing jerk, I mean really, with luck like mine . . .

She reddens considerably. "P-pervert!" She exclaims shakily.

"I-I... I'm a growing boy!" I try to defend myself through the rising heat in my cheeks and painful erection. "I can't help it!"

"Get off!" She whisper shouts in a demonic tone. Obviously, I comply. This girl scares me. A lot.

I offer a hand to her to help her up. _What? My mom raised me to be a gentleman._

After smacking my hand away, she shoots me a murderous glare and hisses, "I will break your _everything_. _Especially_, your _fifth_ limb." Then, she slams her bony fist into my stomach and barges into the apartment across from mine. I'm left collapsed on the floor, petrified by sheer terror._ I think . . . I just met Satan._

**SAMANTHA**

I slam the door shut, seething in rage. That. Little. Perv. I'll - "Sam!" I hear the only voice that wouldn't make me punch the speaker right now. I hear Carly Shay's voice. "C'mon, we've got a lot of work to do - don't be like that, it'll be fun!" She grabs my arm, perky as usual.

I snort. "Fun? Work is not fun, Shay," I say before glancing at her fridge, wanting to raid it as usual but tied down by her grip on me.

"We have ham," She instantly deadpans.

"And now it is," I say, heading to the fridge to snatch said ham.

"So, what was up with the dramatic door slam?" She lets curiosity get the best of her.

"Some nub ended up straddling me and got 'excited.'" I glower at the cursed memory.

"Whoa, TMI, Sam," she shields her eyes at the last part, "did you kill him?"

"No. He deserves something much more painful than the mercy of death. The Nub's going down." I crack my knuckles.

"Oh no." Carls groans at my words.

"So, are we going to go shopping or do I get out of this one?" I ask, a fork and knife in hand as I cut away at the delicious wonder known as ham.

"Shopping." Shay says, dragging me off to my doom with my precious ham in hand.

* * *

Many, many, _many _miserably slow hours later, we manage to force ourselves to trudge back into Carls' apartment, bags weighing us down. I groan. So. Much. Pink. I just wanna scream into a pillow.

"Sam?" My daffodil of a best friend groans.

"What?" I let out a mix of a groan and snap.

"We're never shopping again," she pitifully curls into a ball on the couch.

"Good," I groan, collapsing on her couch, head resting in the crook of where the cushions meets. My hand searches for the remote, to turn the HDTV on to "Girly Cow."

". . . . . . . Sam?" She whispers in a 'I don't want to wake you up, sorry I just did' tone.

"Whaaat?" I whine back, exhausted.

"I have a new neighbor. She has 2 boys going to our school," She informs me for whatever obnoxious reason.

"Why does this matter?" I groan into a throw pillow.

"She's a nutjob. And she was wazzed off at the cuter one for "being a smart Alex,"" Shay tells me.

"Smart Alex?" I raise my head from the throw pillow, shifting my body to put my weight on my arms and shins, cocking an eyebrow, laughing.

"Yeah, that's what it is, right?" She frowns at my laughter.

"Carls, it's smart aleck," I manage through my small fit of laughter.

"What? But, but . . . but - "

"But nothing, Carls. 'Night," I grin, patting her head.

". . ." After a long minute of silence, she finally comes up with: "Don't be so vindictive, Sammy." I roll my eyes.

"Whatever you say, Carls," I respond, adjusting my position on the couch. "'Night."

"Goodnight, Sam," she sinks into the couch. Then, I'm frollicking in a field of meat . . .

* * *

  
I wake up several hours later. Thanks to Carly's feet. What a great way to wake up your best friend! Not. I push my curly mess of hair out of my face, spluttering on a few strands, mentally cursing out Carls.

"Bacon's ready!" Carly calls from the kitchen._ And all is forgiven__._

"Yeah! Mama loves her bacon!" I exclaim, rubbing my stomach for emphasis.

"I know, why do you think I made you so much?" Carls laughs, dishing out the bacon and scrambled eggs. "Ketchup?"

"You know it!" I grin, eagerly sitting down with my fork and knife.

"Of course," she rolls her eyes, fetching me my ketchup. I squirt ketchup all over my eggs, happily devouring my delicious meat!

"Hey, Carls, you said the nutjob moved in right across the hall, right?" I ask through my mouthful of bacon.

"Yeah, why?" She gingerly wipes her mouth.

"The Nub lives across the hall. Help me torture him?" I ask, swallowing eggs.

"Sam. We can't torture the poor boy," she rolls her eyes with a sincere smile.

"Says you," I snort, stabbing bacon and eggs with my big fork.

"It'll violate your probation," she says.

"Fine," I groan, rolling my eyes.

"Try harder this year?" She asks, picking up her plate.

"Alright," I say through bacon.

"Promise?" She stops to ask me.

"Promise," I nod, locking pinkies with her.

"Wash your plate?" She asks hopefully.

"Yes, Mom," I playfully roll my eyes, heading to the sink with her.

"Be nice to other people?" She asks again, a less hopeful gleam to her eyes this time.

"Pushin' it." I deadpan, rinsing off the ketchup.

"Of course." She sighs, washing her plate with soap and water. I grin deviously and slap her with foam. She shrieks and throws some back after looking at me in disbelief. We end up fighting with foam and breaking our plates. "Let's not tell Spencer about that."

"Yeah," I nod vigorously, clutching Carls slightly.

"Tell me wha - " Spencer comes out of his room in an old white t-shirt he used to sculpt in and duck pajama pants. Man, I hate ducks. They don't even taste good! I chuck a spatula at Spence's face. He screams in pain and clutches the bruised spot where I hit him.

"Nothing!" I scream violently.

"Okay!" He exclaims, retreating to his bedroom, still clutching his bruised face. Which is a shame since his face is kind of pretty.

"Sam!" Carls exclaims, throwing her hands up.

"What? You said not to tell him," I shrug.

"But you can't just - you know what? Never mind, let's just go get pie,"she says, dragging me upstairs to change.

"Galini's?" My eyes widen in excitement.

"Where else?" Carls giggles as we head upstairs.

"Shirt?"

"I just washed your favorite one."

"Jeans?"

"Roll 'em up a little."

"Bra?"

"No! Are we even the same size?!"

"I guess it would be a squeeze. So I'll just wear this one."

"Sam! I'm pretty sure the neighbors can hear!"

"Blegh!"

"Nyeh!"

"Blegh!"

"Nyeh!"

"Blegh!"

"Ny - what are we doing?"

"You tell me, Kid," I shrug as we enter Carls' room. She passes me my favorite shirt to borrow - a graphic t-shirt she bought just 'cause I liked it! It reads "Go lick a sidewalk." in a red, typewriter font and has a white base and is written on a pretty tongue. I grab a black pair of skinny jeans and change, making a note to leave a bra and pair of boxers at Carly's._ What? Girl underwear (Never. Say. The 'p' word.) makes me feel like a daffodil._

"Hey, Sam. This shirt or this blouse?" She holds up a Cuddlefish t-shirt and a hideous sky blue blouse.

"The Cuddlefish shirt, the blouse is weird," I point to the shirt with my elbow as I zip up the jeans.

"Hey! Grandad got me this blouse," she defensively holds the blouse.

"So it's my fault the man got you an ugly blouse?" I ask, grabbing the black and red hoodie I left at Carls'.

"No, I mean . . . I guess it is pretty hideous, isn't it?" She crinkles her nose in disgust.

"Oh yeah," I nod, flipping my hair out of the jacket. "You ready?" I ask, hands in pockets.

"Hang on, and . . . let's go get some pie," she grins, exiting the room in the pink (blegh) Cuddlefish t-shirt and her faded blue jeans with me in tow. We exit her apartment after I steal 20 bucks from Spence's abandoned wallet.

"Sam! Did you take $20 from Spencer's wallet?" Carls interrogates me.

"Yeah," I nod.

"Sam! You can't steal money from my brother!" She throws her hands into the air.

"And yet I did. C'mon, Carls. It's not a big deal, he doesn't have to know," I argue.

"But - ah, forget it," Carly sighs, turning around.

"Hey?" An unfamiliar voice greets.

I scream angrily in return.

"What's wrong with you?" The brown haired boy screams back.

"What isn't wrong with me?" I scream at him.

"Touche, Blondie. Touche," he nods his head fairly.

"It's Sam. Sam Puckett," I correct him.

"I'm Ben Benson," he says in turn.

"Carly Shay," Carls enters the conversation.

"So, where are you two going and why were you talking about bras?" He leans against the door he came from.

"You heard that?" Carls pales considerably. Well, he is pretty cute - messy light brown hair that spikes up, vivid green eyes, decently tanned skin, hints of developing muscle, nice cheekbones (he'll probably have those really cool hallow cheeks that look hot when he's older), lopsided and devious grin, around our height - a little taller, and really cool clothes, a little bit nubbish but mostly cool.

"Yeah, but I don't really care that much - you two are pretty funny," Benito here chuckles. He thinks we're funny?

"Well, we're going to Galini's, wanna come? You know, to get to know each other, I mean, if we're gonna be neighbors - and you're going to Ridgeway, right?" Carly babbles on nervously. This amuses Ben, who grins more, a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Yeah, I'd like that. So, are you guys entering 6th grade too? It'll be nice to know people at Ridgeway, you know, besides my nubby twin," he laughs nervously.

"Yup, we're entering the miserable world of middle school too, Benito," I grin, shoving him slightly.

"Good to know, Puckett. Wait - 'Go lick a sidewalk?'" He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, my shirts are weird," I mock bow with fancy hand gestures as Carls and Benito laugh.

"This could be the start of beautiful friendship," Ben chuckles, casually putting an arm around me and Carls._ Yes, yes it could be._ We laugh, walking off to Galini's.

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	2. CHAPTER 1: iGet Bullied

**CHAPTER 1: iGet Bullied (By Satan Herself)**

**FREDWARD**

The stone hard, icy glare of death's crystal orbs is a sight to behold. And to fear. As in, wet your pants fear. Last week, I came face to face - well, more like crotch to crotch, with Satan _her_self - and somehow, I have no idea how, I survived relatively unscathed. All she did was sock me in the stomach. I expected to die. And recently, I've been having nightmares about her. So I've been staying in a state between dreams to avoid her menacing presence. She's _terrifying_.

The shrill beeps of my alarm clock wake me at 6 am. Groggy, I blink multiple times before rubbing the chiz from my eyes. "Ben, get up," I whisper, smacking his bunk.

He groans, irritable as ever. "Shut up and wazz off," he drawls in a sleepy monotone, chucking a pillow down at me.

"C'mon, it's our first day of school," I remind him, opening my closet to grab my favorite striped, blue and green polo; some slightly worn, blue jeans; a dark belt with a shiny, gold buckle; and a pair of crisp, perfectly white socks.

". . . You suck." He deadpans after stretching his limbs. I sigh at his rebellious nature as he drops down from his bunk. With a devious grin, he fetches a collared, red dress shirt with Cuddlefish written in black cursive, sideways; a black dress jacket that he reconstructed to look cool; a black tie that he loosely ties around his neck; crisp, formal, and dark jeans; a white pair of socks; a fancy belt he got for Easter; and his signature, grey headphones. After he gets dressed and puts on deodorant, he throws an old shoe at me and grabs a pair of Daka sneakers, telling me to "hurry the chiz up" before jetting out of our room.

After he bails to grab some breakfast, I finish buckling my belt and head into the bathroom to both wash my face and think about last week, when I met Satan, who, by the way, is a blonde haired, blue eyed girl who wants me dead. You see, the day after_ the incident_, I made a shocking discovery. The She-Devil is best friends with my drop-dead stunning neighbor. Carly Shay. She's so sweet and kind and pretty . . . I watched her through the peephole in the door and found out that she has an artistic older brother, is really forgiving, goes to Ridgeway, and thinks my mother is insane. Ben agrees.

I stare into the mirror, fixing my hair to be a little messy, that looks good on Ben so it should look good on me. I towel my face off and head into the dining room, greet my mom, eat eggs and an apple ("An apple a day keeps the doctor away," Mom always reminds us during the tick baths she forces us to take), and then go to brush my teeth with Ben. Through our foaming mouths and vibrating tooth brushes we have an estranged conversation about his throwing of meatballs and walnuts at random, innocent civilians.

When we finish, Mom drives us to school and we arrive at precisely 7:45 am, much to Ben's annoyance at being 15 minutes early and arriving 19 minutes before he even planned on showing up.

"At least we can get a feel of the school layout so we won't get lost," I point out, gesturing to the large building.

"What was all your research on the school even for if you didn't print out a map?" He dryly cocks an eyebrow, slightly amused. He pushes the door open, me at his heels

"I researched teachers and students and the classes and the reputation and the programs," I list my topics, a little annoyed at his lack of attention when I told him about my research results yesterday.

"Did you also research how to be a nerd? 'Cause you really don't have to, you can write a 'how to' on it already!" He sarcastically exclaims before walking off to mingle. I'm left to scowl at my brother. He can be a real jerk at times.

**SAMANTHA**

I strut into the school, late. Defiantly late. Because Sam Puckett doesn't follow the rules or show up on time. I walk up to Carly, Skybucks coffee in hand, grin in place. "'Mornin', Carls."

"Sam, there you are!" She hugs me in her cheerful manor. I laugh lightly, patting her back with my free hand. "Come on, we're going to get our schedules," she drags me off into the cafeteria.

"I can walk, Carls," I roll my eyes, sipping my coffee.

"I walk faster," she retorts, speeding up.

"Onward!" I declare, pointing with my coffee holding hand for dramatic effect.

"We're going onward," she sasses me a little.

"Whoa, Shay. Since when do you sass people?" I chuckle, eyebrow raised.

"Since you rubbed off on me. You're a terrible influence," she responds briskly.

"I'm a _lovable _terrible influence," I correct her.

"Whatever," she laughs lightly. Arm held captive by arm, she drags me (almost literally) to the cafeteria.

When we finally arrive at the cafeteria, it reeks of nerd and sweat. And most importantly, awkwardness. I size up the losers, deciding who's bullying material and who I don't give a chiz about. A lot of kids fall into the 'don't give a chiz' section, but a decent amount makes it into the 'bullying material' section. Just enough for me to have fun. Then, I see _it_. Nub. Is he wearing stripes? I hate stripes. Just another reason to hate that thing. I nudge Carly with my elbow, pointing out the nub and murmur, "That's the creep who ended up straddling me in the hall."

"Really? He looks so sweet and harmless - " she begins what will be a long winded, naive rant about how 'harmless' that dork is.

"He's a creepy, perverted, dorky nub." Firmly, I summarize the dipthong for Carls. "And he's wearing stripes," I add as an afterthought, crinkling my nose in disgust.

"True, but I'm sure it was an accident, Sam." She's way too nice and optimistic right now. Nice nauseates me. Seriously, it took me over a year to really get used to Carly, and in that year, this daffodil managed to become my best friend; finding out about my deadbeat dad, my goody-two-shoes twin, my freak of a mom, my criminal family in general, and all that chiz.

I roll my eyes, marching up to the nub angrily. "Nub," I hiss at him in a venom filled voice. The spineless worm must be terrified.

". . ." He freezes, terrified to every misery filled extent. "Hi . . ." It's meek and lame but I don't expect much from him in the first place.

"Hi," I mimic his high, pre-pubescent voice. He flinches, I stand a little taller.

"Um . . . I never got your name," he awkwardly and fearfully winces.

"I never said it," I deadpan, not amused by the nub's lack of an apology - he should be grovelling for forgiveness!

"Well, I'm Freddie," he turns around to face me, holding a hand out.

"Sam, do you wanna go to Groovy Smoothie later, Nub?" I decide to viciously play nice and sarcastically tell him my name.

"Is that short for Samantha?" He asks. Big mistake. I have him pinned down in seconds, his arm painfully held between his shoulder blades. He writhes in agony, pleading for it to stop. Like. Hell.

"Never. Call. Me. Samantha. Again." I grind out, tightening my hold on his arm. I know there's a crowd, I know there's a teacher screaming at me, I know Carly's trying to stop me, I know Ben is pulling me off, kicking and screaming and threatening Fredweird's life. I know I'm gonna make that freak _grovel _for the mercy of death.

I'm in the principal's office before I even have my class schedule. This is one for the record books. Well, Principal Franklin, or Ted as I will call him, scolds me, lets me off with a warning and clean up duty since school hasn't really started, before handing me my schedule.

"_Thanks_, Ted," I emphasize 'thanks' and add extra sarcasm to it. Special for you, Ted.

"Principal Franklin," he corrects me for the first time, I'm sure it won't be the last time he does.

"Whatever," I shrug, leaving the room.

I'm greeted by a _magnificent _sight to behold (yes, I know the word magnificent): Carly pacing, clearly a wreck; a gathered crowd, which hushed whispers spread through; and an injured nub. "Hey, Carls," I grin deviously at my best friend.

"Sam!" She hugs me happily. "I thought you'd get suspended - before even attending a single class!"

"Well, I didn't. And, behold my schedule," I hold up my brand new schedule for Carls to marvel. "They won't suspend me yet, I haven't gotten to make those boobs hate me," I add as an afterthought.

"Schedule swap!" She excitedly switches schedules with me to read over my classes. "Yes! We can sit next to each other in 4 classes!"

"For once my schedule isn't jank?" I ask her - usually we barely have a class together.

"Yeah," she beams before hugging me again.

"Too many hugs!" I groan at her excessive hugging.

"Sorry," she bashfully tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "One more?"

"Fine," I roll my eyes, holding my arms out for the sake of my best friend.

**FREDWARD**

I gape at the scene before me. Now, I knew they were best friends, but, Carly can tame Sam? She can get her to hug? Holy chiz.

"Hey, mutant!" I hear the only person who would call someone that shout. Ben.

"What, freak?" Sam snaps back.

"Why'd you try to dislocate my brother's shoulder? Not that I don't do that, but why, Sammy?" Ben questions her motives.

"He called me Samantha," the She-Devil responds.

"Really, Fredweird? You can't just call someone by their real name. People have nicknames for a reason, you wazzbag!" He smacks me upside the head. _Unnecessary and rude!_

"What? _You're_ always calling me by my real name, Ben!" I exclaim to my hypocrite brother.

"Look, Freddison, I'm your brother, you should be used to it," he states. "Besides, I only do that 'round people who already know your real name - and strangers."

"Would you look at that? The nub's brother, Benjamin is actually cool," Sam mockingly applauds.

"I wish, but my mom's a nut job, so Ben's short for Bennick," he shudders.

"And I thought Samantha was a bad name," Sam laughs a little, "any chance you like throwing stuff at strangers?"

"It's only my talent. My favorite stuff to throw are meatballs and walnuts," Ben grins lopsidedly.

"Awesome, unlike the geek," she gestures to me for effect.

"You're telling me," he laughs, high-fiving her.

"This is why we're friends." Laughter.

"That reminds me, Carls, Sammy, Galini's after school?" Playful poking.

"No, we've gotta take you the Groovy Smoothie!" Smacking.

"The Groovy Smoothie?" Ben questions.

"Oh my gosh! LA has left you so deprived!" Sam exclaims.

"Sorry I've grown up next to Hollywood," Ben laughs.

"But seriously, me, you, and Carls are all going to the Groovy Smoothie sometime, Benito," Benito? They all have nicknames for each other? Oh, come on!

"She's right, T-Bo may be really strange, but he runs a great smoothie shop," Carly smiles, touching Ben's arm knowingly, "be warned though, he'll try to sell you food on a stick. Just a little heads up."

"Okay, okay. It's a date. We're all going to a smootherie," Ben agrees, laughing.

"A smootherie?" Sam raises an eyebrow, on hand covering her stomach as she enters a small laughing fit.

"Yes, Sammy. A smootherie," Ben confirms, dramatically placing a hand on her shoulder. She and Carly crack up, gently hitting a grinning Ben and doubling over. Carly looks so pretty when she does that . . .

_Wait_!_ Ben. Sam. Carly. Smoothies. Shoulder. Are you kidding? I almost get my shoulder dislocated then my brother makes plans to go to a smoothie shop with the witch who did it? Or should I say, Satan?_

"Hey, Freddison, c'mon. We've gotta get to class," he smiles reassuringly at me. I nod in response before glaring at the witch who flips me off before dragging Carly to class . . . in the same direction as me. Darn it. I sigh, letting Ben keep his reassuring, clapped hand on my shoulder and Sam growling as Carly, restrains her. _Why me?_

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	3. CHAPTER 2: iHate Ms Briggs

CHAPTER 2: iHate Ms. Briggs (and so Does Everyone Else)

**FREDWARD**

The trip to English is . . . to put it lightly, awkward; a strange silence hangs in the thick air, a certain tension circles our 2 groups, Ben and I have a large gap between us and Carly and Sam, and when Carly tries to break the ice, Sam spits on me. Disgusting.

"I can't believe you spat on him!" Carly's sweet, delicate voice asserts, her pale, flawless arms rising to emphasize her point a little bit after said event's occurrence.

"He's a nub!" Sam's satanic, sarcastic, overall mean voice ripostes, arms flying up.

"That doesn't mean you can spit on him!" Carly tries to explain manners to Sam, a hopeless cause.

"The nub called me Samantha!" Sam argues her terrible point.

"Isn't that why you tried to dislocate his shoulder?!" A stressed Carly proclaims.

"That didn't work since someone pulled me off of the nub before I could!" Sam tumults in a violent manner.

"Why are we friends?" Carly groans.

"Because I'm lovable and funny," Sam nudges Carly.

"And I'm kind and understanding," Carly recites the rest of Sam's sentence as if she's said this a thousand times before which she probably has.

"Exactly," Sam grins, dragging Carly ahead of us.

Ben and I exchange confused glances, mouths slightly open. After a moment, Ben composes himself, closes his mouth, and tells me to shut mine before flies fly into it ("Don't know why they'd be mental enough to want in your mouth though, Fredward.") before briskly walking ahead of me to class, gripping the strap of his backpack that's slung around his shoulder. I blink for a second, then I shake my head and catch up with him.

**SAMANTHA**

I spat on Fredwiener. It was fun. But he doesn't deserve to be graced by my spit. I'll just shove him in a locker later. And steal his money.

Right now I have a teacher to terrorize. "Carls, straw me," I hold out my hand, palm up, waiting for my straw to spitball our English teacher.

"Uh . . . here it is!" She places the Inside-Out Burger straw in my hand. I grin crookedly before pushing the door open with a glare firmly in place.

"'Morning, Doofs," I smack the nearest nerd upside the head.

"Sam," Carly rolls her eyes and nudges me, seating herself in one of the back rows, to the left, 3 seats from a big ol' window. I plop myself down to her left, leaving a seat between us empty, after deciding I can spitball well from there.

Then, Ben strides over to us and claims the window seat, fist-bumping me ("You had perfect aim when you spat on Fredwad."). Almost a second later, the doof rambles in, seating himself between me and Carls (with a sheepish grin for Carls), to my disgust. I pull out my notebook and a pencil case Shay got me, complete with school chiz, then tear a page out and scrawl_ 'Carly will never love you.'_ in my surprisingly neat handwriting, using purple ink, crumple it and chucking it at Fredweird's head, despite him being right next to me. He grunts, rubbing his head as he flattens the crumpled paper out to read. He scowls, writes back, and slams it on my desk. _'No one will ever love you.'_ I snort to hide the how bad the words hurt and write back. _'Says the nub who will forever be rejected.'_ When he reads this, he glares at me, then, the teacher walks in. I can already tell this freak's a batty dinosaur.

"You two!" The crone points at me and Freddork, "stop passing notes - no flaunting being a couple in my class!"

"_It _makes me wanna vomit blood!" I protest loudly.

"And _that _makes me sick!" He points at me.

"No one asked you, Nub," I tell him.

"What the chiz is a nub?" He flings his arms out.

"You!" I gesture at him.

"Shut up! Both of you, sit down!" The bat shouts at us. Being the doof he is, he sticks his tongue out at me to which I roll my eyes. "I hate children."

"Why are you a teacher?" I exclaim.

"So I can torture you brats. Now, I am Ms. Briggs, and you will all shut up and stay where you are for the year, got it, demons?!" She barks at us like a drill sergeant.

"Aren't you lovely, crone," I sarcastically roll my eyes because yes, sarcasm can be expressed physically. Note the sarcasm.

**CARLY**

Gah, Ms. Briggs is a horrible teacher. She's so . . . pruney. A bitter, old woman with 40 cats - that's her in a nutshell. Oh gosh, Sam really has rubbed off on me. It's then that, out of the corner of my eye, I notice Ben aiming a loaded straw. And then, foop! It hits Ms. Briggs square in the pointy boob. I watch Sam and Ben fist-bump before Sam hits her it the other triangular boob. They suppress their laughter with their hands as she furiously searches the room, listening to a class of 6th graders cracking up. I awkwardly exchange eye contact with the only other person keeping a decent level of sanity - Freddie, who's just sniggering a little. He puts on a straight face and shrugs a little, mouthing, "Sorry."

I furrow my eyebrows, confused. Why is he apologizing? His brown eyes widen and he hastily scratches the back of his head. I glance over at Ben and Sam, who Ms. Briggs is blatantly glaring at.

"You two! Detention!" She shrieks, wildly pointing a finger back and forth, from Ben to Sam and back again.

"Sir, yes, sir, Sergeant Briggs," Ben lets out his laughter, mock saluting her. Sam's laughter increases as she also mock salutes Ms. Briggs. I sigh, detention already, Sam?

After class, I grab Sam by the arm and drag her out. "Sam, you said you'd try harder this year," I remind her of her promise.

"I never said what I'd try harder at," she guiltily averts her eyes.

"Please, Sam. I don't want you to get expelled," I whisper.

"Alright, Carls . . ." Sam bites her lip slightly, nodding, "for you." I smile at the rare moment of Sam's sweet side.

**SAMANTHA**

School sucks. Especially middle school. Why? There a lot of reasons: effort, lack of food, idiots, doofs, nubs, jank teachers, wazzbags, homework, detention, rules, and most importantly, the Nub. Ugh, I hate that kid. It took 8 seconds to hate him. 8 seconds of the Nub straddling me - blegh! That thing seriously makes me want to puke blood - I wasn't joking in Briggs' class!

I scowl at Carly's TV. Even "Girly Cow" isn't helping. Carls reenters the living room, holding 2 Peppy Colas. She tosses 1 to me and I open it right away. Sipping the fizzy drink, I glance at Carls. "Yo," I snap my fingers at my dazed friend.

"What?" She jumps a little.

"Get the Nub," I instruct her.

"Okay?" She nervously fidgets, knowing I'm going to harm him.

When she returns, Nub in company, I chuck a pillow at him. Ben enters behind him and tosses me the pillow with a "Hey, Sammy."  
I tell the Nub to sit, patting the couch for effect. Cautiously, he seats himself after a reassuring glance from Carly. Naive Carly.

"Die." I demand.

"Why?" He stupidly asks.

"Because I hate you, Fredifer," I roll my eyes.

"What? No!" He exclaims.

"Clearly, we have a communication issue," I say, pinning him down on the couch so I'm straddling him, all my weight balanced on his stomach, my elbow digging into his chest. He groans in pain and I feel something hard brush my butt. Pervert. I grit my teeth and dig my elbow down a lot harder.

"Okay! Okay! Uncle, UNCLE!" He screams, trying to throw me off. I refuse. This nub needs to be taught a lesson. It's then that he rolls over and off the couch. We land with a thud and quickly separate.

"Die." I hiss. Freddwardo makes gestures like a madman at Ben who helps him up. Carly continues to stare at the scene, she can now see what I meant about him being a pervert - hopefully. I slap the Nub, sip my soda, and spit in his face again, pickpocketing him as I intended to from the start.

". . ." A silence falls over the 4 of us. Ben speaks up first, "That was interesting."

". . . Bye?" Fredweeb timidly leaves.

"Oh, Sam," Carly squeezes her eyes shut, wincing.

"Wanna throw apples at random civilians?" Ben offers.

"Why not?" I shrug, glancing at Carls.

". . . sure," she reluctantly sighs, "maybe Ms. Briggs will be one of the people we hit."

Ben grins and nods in agreement. "Hopefully."

**iRant: Eh. This wasn't too suckish. It was kind of jank in places, but you get some glimpses into friendships. And yes, Ben seems like a tool, but I swear he isn't, he just has a tough time showing affection, like Sam. But uh, review for a preview, weasels.**


	4. CHAPTER 3: iAnkle Swear

CHAPTER 3: iAnkle Swear (Cross My Heart and Hope to Die)

**BENNICK**

Last month, Freddison was dumb enough to call Sam Puckett Samantha so she tried to dislocate his shoulder, Sammy spat on Fredifer, I got detention in English with Sammy, Sammy maimed Freddison so bad he's still soar, she stole his wallet after spitting on him a second time, and I threw apples at random civilians with Carls and Sammy from my fire escape - I'd say it was a productive first day of middle school. Since then, we've been hanging out at the Groovy Smoothie - which I now love after 11 years of being deprived of its awesomeness; laughing at weird internet videos; throwing stuff at random civilians from my fire escape; messing with our horrible doorman, Lewbert; doing foot archery; playing laser tag; failing epically at bowling; kicking buttocks at air hockey; eating Galini's amazing pie; and running amuck of Seattle and its hobos (which it has a lot of)!

As soon as I enter the school building, I search for Carly since Samantha will most likely be late. Very late. "Wazzup, Carls?" I call to her as soon as I catch sight of her coffee brown hair, mmm . . . I love coffee.

"Hey, Ben," Carly sighs, gingerly closing her locker door.

"Okay, what's wrong, Shay?" I ask her in a soft, understanding tone.

"Nothing, it's stupid, really," she shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Seriously, Carly, you can tell me," I smile sincerely at her, leaning against the locker next to hers.

"Well . . . I've been trying to get Sam to stay out of trouble recently but she won't listen and I don't want her getting expelled 'cause if she does her mom will move them to Idaho, the only other state she doesn't hate and hasn't lived in or been banned from and I don't want my best friend to move to Idaho!" Carly quickly confides her issue to me.

"Carly! It's okay. I'll help you keep Sammy from being expelled. I'm willing to take some blame off her - you know I love you guys, I mean really, jeebus, Shay" I smile reassuringly, holding my arms out to hug her. She smiles back up at me, gratefully before tucking herself into my chest. She's warm, a nice, pleasant warmth like sitting around a campfire, roasting marsh mellows. I feel a pleasant little tingle as she wraps her small arms around my neck. I gulp, gently take a step back, hands still attached to her waist, grin nervously, and double check my bag for my books. "Oh look, it's Freddison!" I swiftly resort to mocking my nubbish twin who was thankfully walking towards us.

"Good morning to you too, Ben . . . butter?" Fredifer awkwardly tries to insult me.

"Benbutter? That's lame even for you, Nub." Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only, beloved Samantha Puckett! Hold your fearful applause, I have to humiliate her.

"You know you love my nubby brother," I laugh, suggestively wiggling my eyebrows.

"That'd be beyond disgusting; he's a total nub, he's utterly repulsive, he makes me wanna puke, he stalks my best friend, and he's a complete dork overall - _if_, for some strange reason, I ever do (gag) _like_ (gag, shudder) this Nub, check me into a mental hospital - immediately," she crinkles her nose in disgust and blatantly fights the urge to vomit. At this, I grin broadly and hug her.

"Will do, just remember not to eat their quesadillas," I remind her.

"Put me down," she growls, viciously smacking me. I laugh and release Dear Old Sammy.

"Seriously though, don't eat the quesadillas," I warn her with wide eyes and rapid hand gestures.

"Don't tell me what to do, Benson," she snaps, "I'll eat quesadillas if I want to."

"Don't blame me when - ya know, it'll be a wonderful experience for you," I shrug, Sammy wants to be stubborn? Her problem, (if it ever actually happens) not mine.

"Nyeeh," she makes a childish sound and repeats it. I snort at her childish antics.

"That, Samantha, is why we're friends," I laugh, clutching my stomach with one hand, balancing myself on he shoulder with the other. She glares and next thing I know, my back's on the floor and I'm in pain.

**SAMANTHA**

I give the Joker a good kick to the side and hear my buttface teacher, Mr. Howard, scream, "Detention!" at me. I roll my eyes at him and turn to Carls. The sight I meet makes me cringe in guilt, yeah, Sam Puckett feels guilt . . . when it comes to Carly Shay. There she is, frowning sadly with pursed lips and a disappointed gleam in her eyes. Oh chiz, I hate seeing Carly so, so . . . so sad. She looks down and says she's disappointed in me - I hate this feeling so. Damn. Much.

I open my mouth slightly, trying to form an apology, but Pucketts aren't good with apologies. I'm no exception to that . . . so I nod sadly and mutter, "I've gotta go." Then I take off to the nearest janitor closet. Why? So I can curl into a ball and cry a little - only a little! When I enter the janitor closet, I begin tearing up a trash can out of my anger at myself. I glare at the remains of the trash can through tears. _Pucketts aren't supposed to cry! C'mon, Puckett, snap out of it . . ._

**BENNICK**

"Chiz, this is my fault. I'll go get her," I place a reassuring hand on Carly's arm, nodding slightly before running after her. I don't bother to call for her, I know where she'd go. I sprint to the nearest janitor closet, listening for sobs or screams, which ever comes first. When I find the closet with hushed sobs and whimpers, I kneel down and pull out my lock-picking tools. What? I grew up in LA and Sam would lock the door. I clumsily fumble with the lock through my panting, guilt, and fear. When I finally get it open, I see something I never imagined seeing. A tearful Sammy.

Her blue eyes are puffy and red with tears brimming on her lashes. Her messy blond curls are partially covering her face. Sobs quietly rack her body and the remains of a torn up trash can are assorted on the tile floor.

"Oh, gosh," I breath out softly at the sight of her so vulnerable. It's then that I do the only logical things in this illogical mess of reality that I can barely believe to be true. I wrap my arms around Sammy, breathing out a lullaby.

"Carly is so disappointed in me," Sammy sobs into my chest, shaking.

"Hey, it's all right, Carly's not upset or disappointed, she just cares about you. We both do," I whisper to her.

"Thank you," she whimpers, pulling back to look up at me.

"Hey, what are friends for?" I chuckle slightly, brushing her hair out of her face, "let's get you cleaned up. Can't have people knowing Sam Puckett cries." Sammy punches me jokingly at this, stepping back so I can clean her up. I take out the pocket hankie my wackjob mom makes me carry around and gently wipe away the tears. I then take out my eye drops and carefully tilt Sammy's head back before I squeeze the bottle gently, letting 3 drops fall into both her eyes. She blinks rubbing her now far less puffy eyes. I carefully slap her cheeks a couple times. "Any concealer to disguise your blotchy cheeks?"

"I think I took some of Carly's," she says, digging around in her backpack. She pulls out some vandalized textbooks, meat, a few questionable substances, some light weapons, and a hammer. My hammer.

"Why do you have my hammer?" I deadpan, snatching it back.

"I needed something to destroy Briggs' car!" She defensively exclaims. I widen my eyes dropping the crime weapon. "I found it," she says after some more searching.

"Oh good," I say, reaching for it.

"No! These are my spare ribs, the concealer's here," she holds up a plastic bag of ribs, handing me the concealer.

I raise an eyebrow, accepting the concealer. "Can I have some?" I ask after a moment of her devouring ribs.

"Get your own!" She snaps, biting a chunk of BBQ sauce drenched meat off the bone. I hold my hands up in surrender.

"So, the concealer?" I ask, awkwardly stepping towards her.

"Whatever," she says, dropping her ribs into the bag again and handing me the concealer. I wipe her face clean of BBQ sauce and then proceed to cover up her slightly blotchy cheeks, carefully blending everything, remembering how Mom does this chiz.

"'Ere we go! Good as new, now, c'mon," I kneel so she can hop onto my back. She complies and I carry her piggyback to Shay and Nub.

"Onward!" She proclaims, pointing forward.

"Do you even know what onward means?" I shout back at her, hoisting her back up as she begins to slip down my back and adjusting my hand positioning.

"Not really!" She yells, balancing herself on my back with the hand she pointed with.

"So you just sometimes shout words you don't actually know by definition?" I ask her, marching forward and ignoring the stares.

"When it seems appropriate!" She calls back, loosely encircling her arms around my neck.

"Okay!" I yell, "why are we yelling?"

"No clue!" She screams back.

"We should stop!"

"Agreed!"

And then we do. Right as I turn the corner to face Carly and Freddie, who's awkwardly flirting with her. Seriously, it's so awkward it _hurts_. "Wazzup, peoples?" I grin confidently, Sam still perched on my back and reluctant to get off. "Hey, Sammy, you can get off now."

"But I don't wanna walk!" She whines/groans loudly and melodramatically.

"I'm not carrying you to class," I inform her.

"Fine," she sighs, hopping off my back and giving me a kick. She then shyly holds her arms out to Carly, who immediately hugs her.

"Aww," Freddie coos, obviously adoring how cute the 2 are. Well, Carly at least.

"Shut it, Benson," Sam snaps, sliding out of Carly's hug.

I smile at her knowingly, mouthing, "Told ya so, Puckett." She snorts and rolls her eyes at me as the bell rings. We all head to Ms. Briggs' first period English together, debating about what chiz really is.

**CARLOTTA**

"So, Carls, you know the whole promise thing?" Sam begins. _Oh no._

"Sam! You can't just back out of this - " I begin to rant to her, making rapid hand gestures and everything, but Sam cuts me off.

"No, Carls. I'm not backing out, just saying. I think we're too old to just pinky promise and chiz like that. 'Sides, it feels less . . . special that way," Sam shrugs, playing with her water bottle.

"So?" I ask, my lips curling into a confused frown. "We're not doing the spit thing or the goat thing!"

"Aw. Well, we can invent something at your place after school, you know, instead of doing homework," Sam suggests, waving her water bottle around for emphasis.

"Of course," I laugh, pushing hair out of my face. Sam shrugs and grins before heading to her locker. Not for books or anything educational, for the jerky she keeps in it. "Can I have some of the jerky?" I call after her dirty blonde curls.

"Maybe!" She responds, turning the corner.

"That means no . . ." I quietly sigh in defeat._ I like jerky too . . ._ I sadly think.

"Hey, Shay. No Sammy?" Ben greets, rudely snapping me out of my thoughts.

I shriek a little in surprise.

"I'll take that as a no?" He scrunches his eyebrows together, putting his PearPhone away.

"Sorry, you scared me a little," I blush a little. _I just screamed like a 5 year old in front of a cute boy!_

"I got that from the shriek. So, we all walking home together?" He chuckles slightly. _Aw, Ben's so good looking . . . maybe once Freddie grows into his looks . . . no, that's still weird._

"Yeah, once Sam gets back from her locker," I nod, swaying my Math book slightly.

"Jerky?" He raises an eyebrow.

"What else would she get from her locker? Books?" I awkwardly laugh at my lame joke.

"She probably sold them all," Ben grins lopsidedly.

"Who sold their books?" Freddie joins in, gripping the strap of his book bag.

"Who do you think?" I giggle slightly.

"Sam," he rolls his eyes.

I open my mouth to say, "Bingo."

"Mama knows who she is." Oh, so Sam's back.

Freddie scowls and opens his mouth - probably to insult Sam. So, deciding to be the reasonable, mature person (as always), I cut him off before he can start, not wanting a fight to break out. "Let's get walking, we have to get back home."

"Sure," Freddie's eyes melt and he gets this puppy dog look to him. I step back, smiling feebly as we begin to walk home, out the school door.

"Aw, is the dork lovesick?" Sam mocks the voice she picks up around Frothy, her rabid, 3 legged cat. We go down the stone steps, Ben groaning as I wince at Sam's insult.

"Y . . . you know what!?" Freddie shouts, twitching and angrily flailing his arms as we walk off of school grounds and onto the sidewalk.

"What, Nub?" Sam glowers at him. Oh no.

"You, you . . ." He clenches his fists and unclenches them a couple times.

"What, Benson, what?" Sam challenges, stepping forward, glaring him right in the eyes. I think he's actually just a little bit taller than her. He opens his mouth then grabs her by the shoulders, proceeding to drag his tongue up her neck, painfully, tauntingly slowly. She freezes, a blush forming over her face, her balled up hands slowly opening, her body shuddering slightly, her eyes squeezing shut, goosebumps spreading over her, and her lips trembling. She stutters a few inaudible words.

"What was that, _Samantha_?"Freddie grins vindictively, lingering near Sam's jaw.

"G - get away . . . f - from me, Nerd," Sam gulps, wincing.

**SAMANTHA**

Some weird, terrible fluttering and falling feeling keeps stirring up inside me. I can barely breath and that weird tingly feeling "down there" is back.

"Why should I?" Freddie breaths out into my ear, his tongue licking my earlobe. I open my mouth to speak and close it, squeezing my eyes shut.

_Oh, God. Is the Nub really doing this to me?_ I feel a searing heat rising in my cheeks.

"Wow, that really worked . . ." The Nub breaths out quietly.

I stare down at my shoes, slowly bringing my fingers to the trail of saliva. My fingers slowly trace the path, wiping it away. I feel their eyes on me as my anger builds. _That fucking brat had the balls to lick my neck!_ Forcing a rage riddled smile, I finish the path of its saliva and stuff my finger into his ear. "You chizzing wazzbag! How dare you lick my neck!" I scream, breathing wildly.

"Gross!" He jumps away.

"Gross!? You just licked my neck!" I shout back, grabbing him by the collar of his dorky, striped shirt.

"You spat on me!" He exclaims.

"Too bad! You can't just lick my neck! You're a guy, I'm a girl, you can't just lick my neck like that!" I point out with a flushed face.

"Wait, that really bothered you? Did it . . ." A grin slowly grows on his dumb face, "did it turn you on when I licked your neck?" He whispers in this low, husky voice I didn't even realize he could pull off.

My face turns absolutely bright red. I almost scream, but instead, I shove him into the street. And directly in the path of a bike messenger. Who knocks him into a fire hydrant._ Good . . . well, chiz, but, ha._

"Freddie!" Ben and Carly scream and rush to him, dragging me along. He responds by moaning and groaning, shifting uncomfortably.

"Chiz, Benson, c'mon, get up," I mutter, kneeling by his side, taking in the sight. His brown hair is tousled cutely, his deep chocolate eyes half lidded so his eyelashes brush his tanned skin, his full lips parted as soft moans leave them, crimson blood trickling out of his dopey ear - oh my gosh, this Nub is cute! My eyes widen in realization. I gulp to help the dryness in my mouth. You know what, he's cute, whatever. He's only a little bit cute, and it's not like I'd ever like such a nub. I just think he's a little cute, who cares?

"Chiz, Sam, we gotta carry him back to the apartment, you take his arms, I got his legs, Carls, call Spence, we can't let my mom know about this, she'll flip!" Ben instructs, elevating his legs. Carly whips out her phone and begins sifting through her contacts as I grab Frednub's arms. We begin to carry him as Carls explains what happened - skipping over the licking thing - to Spencer.

The trip to Bushwell is long and full of groaning and bleeding. When we finally get there, we ignore Lewbert's complaints about bleeding over his clean floor ("AW, MAN! I JUST CLEANED MY FLOOR! DON'T BLEED ALL OVER IT!"). To which I told him that he and his wart can lick a sidewalk or shut up. We sneak Fredweird upstairs where Spencer begins cleaning his wound in a crazed panic before he wraps it up with gauze. When he's back to his senses with an icepack on his ear, we (me begrudgingly) check up on him. On the couch. _Ugh._

"Hey, Freddie, look, since you're feeling better, Sam has something to say. Sam," she pushes me forward. I wince, closing my eyes.

"Nub . . . I shouldn't have pushed you into the road, I'm . . . s . . . s - so - sor . . . sorry," I glare at the ceiling.

"You can make it up to me," he says, leaning on his elbow as he looks up at me, "by telling me it turned you on." He smiles, laughing. I glare and smack him. "Kidding. Just, do what I say for a week - I think you gave me hearing loss."

I clench my fists, ready to punch his lights out, when I look at him again, all injured. Gah! "Fine. One week only, then I kick your nubby butt."

"Oh, Sam," Carly sighs, putting a hand on my shoulder for a second to pat it.

"Deal," The Nub grins up at me. I roll my eyes, deciding exactly what I should do.

"I'm gonna get some Wahoo Punch, want some?" Carls asks, making a running gesture with her arms.

"Si," Fredwardo nods with me. _Blegh._

"I'll help you carry the glasses," Ben says, following Carls into the kitchen.

"Yay," she laughs.

"Hey, Freddie." I whisper, staring down at him.

He blinks, shifting his weight slightly, awkwardly in between sinking into the couch and propping himself up, and parting his lips with wide eyes and a heaving chest. I lean down slightly. He stares in disbelief. _Closer, closer, closer . . . almost._

"Ow!" Fredwad shrieks like Melanie did when we were 6.

"Sam!" Carly screams.

"What happened?" Ben exclaims, exiting the fridge.

"She bit me!" Freddie grips his nose, where I bit him.

"What did you think was gonna happen?" I shrug, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know, but you're evil and I hate you!" He exclaims.

"I hate you more! And Carly will never love you!" I point out.

"We get it! You hate each other! Come on, aren't we gonna work on the new swear thing? Seriously, I'm ready to slap you guys!" Ben screams, draining a carton of chocolate milk.

"That's it!" Carly beams, clapping her hands together.

"What's it?" Me, the Nub, and Ben ask.

"We'll slap swear!" Carls does a little happy dance.

"Carls, you remember the time I broke that trucker's arm when we were 9?" She nods. "Alright, now, imagine me slapping you."

"Fine . . ." she pouts.

"But we _can_ ankle swear," Ben grins.

"Ankle swear?" I ask.

"You heard me, ankle swear. C'mon, I'll show you," Ben grabs Carls and demonstrates a cool routine.

"Awesome, break it down or I break you," I tell him as he grins at Carls.

"Breakin' it down," Ben snaps his fingers into a thumbs up with a phony smile. He then shows me a few times over as Fredwardo watches, pinching his bitten nose. Eventually, the 3 of us get the ankle swear down, memorized.

"Hey, guys!" Spencer rushes down the stairs, "do you want spaghetti or tacos?" I raise an eyebrow, exchanging looks with my friends and Ben's brother.

"Both," I declare, wiggling my hips happily.

"But how do I -" Spencer begins to ask.

"Figure something out!" Ben demands, "we want spaghetti tacos! We want spaghetti tacos!" We all join in his chant as Spencer backs into the kitchen.

"Alright, alright! Since the people want spaghetti tacos, they shall get spaghetti tacos!" Spencer exclaims. The 5 of us cheer, throwing our arms into the air. I dance over to Freddie to mess with his hair as Spencer gets cooking and Ben and Carly sort of flirt.


	5. CHAPTER 4: iControl

**CHAPTER 4: iControl (a Blonde-Headed Demon)**

**FREDWARD  
**  
I can't believe Sam bit me! I'm not a piece of ham! I mean, who does that? Gah! I know I licked her neck, but she _spat_ on me! We were even! My nose still hurts!

"Freddie, get up, get dressed, we're going to Carly's," Ben slides out of be and to the floor, where he shakes me.

"Alright," I nod absentmindedly, getting up. When I get up, I change into a simple red, pinstripe, collared button up, short sleeve dress shirt; a pair of freshly cleaned, dark blue jeans; a black belt with a silver buckle; long, white socks; and a long sleeved, black, collared, button up jacket. I roll up the sleeves of the jacket, and head to the bathroom without Ben. When he heads into the bathroom, he's wearing a blue, long sleeved dress shirt with a collar and a black, star design; a pair of black jeans; & a grey, biker style vest.

"Hey, Ben," I greet after spitting up the toothpaste foam. "Mouthwash?"

"Right here," he passes it to me, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste.

"Thanks," I say through my gurgling. He nods, scrubbing his teeth. When we finish brushing, we both grab an apple, slide on sneakers, and head to the apartment across the hall.

"Yo, yo, Shay!" Ben shouts, closing the door behind me.

"Hey, hey, Benson!" She laughs, running down the stairs. When she gets to us, she hugs Ben, lingering a little afterwards. "Cologne?" She asks, sniffing him.

"No, my mom's a lunatic about everything so I don't think I'm aloud to wear cologne," Ben laughs a little, hands still on her waist. She shrugs a little and goes to hug me. She smells like mangoes, coconut cream pie, and scented laundry detergent. _Ah . . . _She pulls back far too soon, laughing slightly while gently pushing me away. _Aw, man. I hugged her too long and now she thinks I'm weird._

"Okay, why do you both smell like really nice spices?" She smiles, blissfully sniffing us.

"I don't know, maybe our deodorant or our body wash," Ben shrugs as the door is forcefully kicked open. None other than Sam Puckett barges in, grumbling angrily. She throws something into my stomach (she throws it so hard I slowly collapse in pain and curl into a ball on the floor, whatever she threw still lodged in stomach, probably causing bleeding of some sort) as she marches to the fridge, still grumbling.

"Sam, what's wrong?" I hear Carly ask as someone kneels down beside me.

"I think you gave my brother internal bleeding! Maybe external, I don't really know," Ben proclaims, uncurling me to extract whatever Sam chucked into my stomach.

"Sorry! I'm just," she sighs, probably violating some poor, innocent meat, "_she's_ 'visiting' next week."

"Sam, she's nice - don't say it, I know, nice nauseates you, _but,_ I think you should try to be friends again - she's told me the stories, don't deny it!" Carly says while Ben pulls out the picture frame Sam chucked at me.

"Whatever, the Nub is not meeting her, I don't need _that_ to happen," Sam snaps, pointing a fork at me.

"Wait, is she, you know, your - " Ben gulps as he and Carly help me up.

"Don't say it!" Sam screams, a wild look in her eyes.

"Well, ignoring your problems, why'd you chuck a pictureless picture frame at me and was the glass broken before?" I ask her, coughing and wincing in pain.

"I was mad," she scoffs, "don't be such a wimp."

"Was. The. Glass. Broken!?" I exclaim through panicking and searching for crimson.

"Yes!" She screams.

"Don't talk to me like that! You have to do what I say this week!" I exclaim, holding my stomach.

"Whatever, you're fine," she rolls her eyes, stomping over to me.

"Let's just head to school, it's 8:30," Ben sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"Right, we have to be there by 8:45," I nod, today we have late start. That's a bad thing considering the fact that Sam almost punctured my stomach because of it.

"We know, Fredwina," Sam snorts, grabbing a grey, over sized, hoodie from the couch and sliding it on over her red t-shirt that reads, 'when life gives you lemons, throw them at other people.' It falls to loosely cling to her cargo pants covered hips. It makes her shoulders look tiny as she flips her hair out of it. She notices me staring at how small she looks in the hoodie and flushes, wriggling her shoulders around as she rolls up the sleeves.

"Sam, don't be mean to the boy - you gave him hearing loss!" Carly scolds Sam, handing her a black dotted red headband after putting her PearPhone in her jean pocket.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says, grabbing her backpack off the chair that she dumped it on before _maiming_ me.

"Spencer! Can you drive us to school?" Carly shouts, fixing her hair.

"GIVE ME A MINUTE!" Spencer screams back, tumbling down the stairs, some weird, graffiti'd box attached to his leg.

"Maybe we should walk," Ben suggests. We nod and agree, awkwardly leaving Spencer unconscious on the floor.

**CARLOTTA**

When we get to school, Freddie makes Sam say he's hot. Ben and I have to restrain her, promise her ham, remind her that she promised, & threaten to throw out all the meat in my apartment. After that disaster, Freddie tells her she has to be nice to him until he says she can stop. She's going to tear him limb from limb at the end of the week. When she and Ben head off to their lockers, Freddie stays behind, helping me unload my textbooks.

"So, Carly, I was wondering," Freddie asks, shyly scratching the back of his head after I have my books in my bag.

"What's up, Freddie?" I smile kindly, trying to figure out how to let him down gently.

"Well, um . . . I think you're really pretty and nice and funny, so, um . . . do you wanna, maybe, go out some time?" His lips twitch into a sincere smile. Aw, I feel so bad about having to turn him down. I mean, he's cute and sweet, but Spencer won't let me date and I just don't think I like Freddie in "that way."

"Look, Freddie, you're cute and sweet and all, but I'm not allowed to date, so, sorry. Maybe when we're older," I say, offering a smile as I grip the strap of my bag.

"Oh, alright," he nods understandingly with a disappointed smile.

"Bonjour, Weirdos, to class?" Ben shouts at us, _great timing. You spared us all the awkward._

"Yeah, c'mon, Freddie," I jerk my head in the direction of class.

**SAMANTHA**

"So, Sam," Fredweird begins after class.

"No." I say.

"Ah, come one! You don't even know what I was gonna ask!" he exclaims, "and you _have_ to do what I say, ha!"

"I'm not asking you out to make Carly "jealous" & avoid making you like a wazzbag," I glare at him.

"Oh, maybe you do, but you still have to do what I say!" He protests, what a dipthong.

"Why?" I snap.

"You pushed me into the street where I was hit by a bike messenger & knocked into a fire hydrant!" He exclaims, ugh.

"You licked my neck," I scoff, returning to my drawing of a ham leading a rebellion of other delicious meats . . .

"You spat on me! We were even!" He cries out, oh, big whoop, I spat on you, get over it.

Wait, even? I look up from my drawing, glaring at the nub. Standing up, I grab the collar of his shirt, gripping it with a lot of my might, I'd use it all but that takes effort. "Mama doesn't play to get 'even,'" I yank him closer, glaring dead into his wimpy, gravy colored eyes - aw, man, I love gravy. "Mama plays to win."

He nods like the nub he is, "yes, ma'am." I throw him back, he sickens me.

"So, if I "help" you, what's in it for me?" I cross my arms.

"You promised Carly!" He exclaims.

"So? She's not gonna find out," I scoff.

"Unless I tell her," he "threatens."

"You won't tell Carly anything," I tell him.

"And why is that?" He "challenges."

"Because if you do, I'll swirlie you so hard you won't be able to get the taste of toilet water out of your mouth until you're 18th birthday, you know, when you become a 'man,'" I promise him.

"So, I won't tell Carly, but, uh . . . if you do this, you don't have to do what I say for the rest of the week, you won't have to be nice to me, which you're not good at, & don't worry, you won't have to kiss me or anything," I stare at him, of course I'm not gonna kiss him, wait does he know about - "Carly told me about Frankie Murkins."

Frankie Murkins - looks like a much hotter, way less nubby Freddie with a broken nose & the hair style he had until last week - was my boyfriend at the end of last year, for like, a week. Then, on the last day of school, we were in a tree & he tried to kiss me so I shoved him & he rudely dumped me.

"So, deal?" He holds out a hand.

I stare at it for a moment. Quickly, I lick my hand & shake his. He winces, looking revolted. "Deal, Nub."

"You know, I Zaplooked what nub is really defined as, it's actually pretty funny, but if you mean it as an insult," He shrugs.

"You _want_ me to give you a Texas wedgie?" I challenge - it's an insult, you buttface nerd!

"Wh - what's a Texas wedgie?" He whispers.

"Assume nub means anything but a jank buttface loser & I'll show you," I warn him.

"Y - yes, ma'am," he nods in fear. Good.

**BENNICK**

If you've ever been arrested, you should have learned how to get handcuffs off. It's really not that hard once you know the trick, I mean, I learned it the last time the cops caught me, when I was nine. That's also the first time they've caught me. All my other offenses, like when I hit a hot dog vendor with an umbrella because he called Fredwad a dishrag & refused to give him a hot dog even though he had the money & when I vandalized this one bully's house in third grade, have either been pinned on someone else or made to look like something else.

Except the one that got me arrested (I hit a crooked cop with a baseball bat because he was trying to blackmail my mom about something my dad did before he went MIA 6 years ago, they let me out after 2 months when they found proof he was threatening my family & prepared to shoot) & my most recent one, where I repeatedly hit a creepy, suspicious man with salami, stole an ice cream truck to escape his accomplices, & took my brother hostage until the idiot cops listened to me, they let me, telling us that this was twice now that I could have been killed stopping a crime & that they thought it wasn't safe for me to be raised in that environment so Mom moved us to Seattle.

Anyways, back to the handcuff thing, it's useful. Ask Sam. So, now that I've been handcuffed to the Shay's couch for the sake of art & Spencer can't find the key, I think that juvy skill is useful. Carefully, I get to work on getting them off. I hum gently as Spencer tears apart his bedroom to find the key.

And . . . they're off!

"Spence! I got them off!" I shout, casually whirling the handcuffs in circles.

"What!? How?" He scrambles into the living room.

"I have a criminal record," I deadpan.

"No wonder you & Sam are already such good friends," he says.

"Yeah, last week we vandalized an abandoned warehouse - it's a classic crime," I reminisce happily.

"I've never tried it," Spence responds.

"You should sometime, it's fun."

"I will consider it."

"So, can I see the sculpture?"

"No, it's not done yet, I need Freddie to pose for his part of it."

"Oh, you're doing something of me, Sammy, Carls, & Fredwad, that's pretty cool."

"Yeah, Sam posed with ham & Carly just had this really sparkly pink ball thingy Sam gave her for her ninth birthday."

"I'm guessing Freddie will pose with a camera, sorta like how I posed with some of my dad's military gear."

"Yeah, you know, you actually look pretty cool in the helmet & jacket, you'll grow into it."

"Definitely, my mom was pregnant with me for eleven months, I've been nourished enough."

"Nourished?"

"I'm healthy."

"Ah."

"So, can I go do my homework now?"

"Sure."

"Awesome."

**CARLOTTA**

Sam & I laugh, singing Ginger Fox's song, My World. Singing is actually one of the few, legal things Sam enjoys that's not edible. She's really good at it, it's one of those things that we can bond over, I mean, we're not total opposites. That's her & Melanie, her identical twin who is quite possibly the only person in Sam's family that _hasn't_ been arrested.

"I'm number one, baby," we sing happily - "oh my god."

"Why are you - " I begin.

"Wearing military clothes?" Sam finishes. We do that sometimes.

"Oh, they were my dad's, he went MIA a few years back, pressumed dead. Spence wanted me to pose for part of his sculpture, Freddo's next. I was heading back to my apartment to change & get my homework," Ben explains.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know, my dad's in the military too," I say.

"Yeah, Spencer told me, he also told me he went to law school," Ben says, looking confused at the last part.

"Yeah, for like three days," Sam laughs.

"Ah, that makes sense," Ben nods.

"But he kept the big book," I shrug.

"Ah, Spencer, so, I'll be back to do homework - Sammy, you have to," he smiles & enters his apartment, 8=D.

"So, Fredweird asked you out today, right?" Sam asks.

"Yeah," I nod.

"I see . . . that's cool, you rejected him, right?" She fidgets slightly.

"Yeah, why?" I nod, opening the door.

"No reason," she says.

"Sure, you don't like him or anything?" I ask.

"_Like_ that _nub?_ Have we not established that if that ever happens I am to be checked into a mental institution? I mean, chiz, Carls, Fredwad's a total geek who's _obsessed_ with you," she rebuts, heh, rebuts . . .

"Alright, whatever you say, Sam," I laugh.

I can't help but get the feeling that Sam has a thing for Freddie. Aw, they'd be so cute together . . . Maybe I could - no, Sam is Sam, the last boy she liked got a soccer ball to the groin; poor Ryder Daniels, he was so good looking - why'd he have to move to LA? Focus, Carly, you can't interfere with Sam's love life again. You told her to talk to Ryder, you told her to ask Frankie Murkins out, you will not tell her to do something about liking Freddie. If she does. This could just be some cruel, elaborate prank.

"Hey, I'm back, don't lock me in the closet again, I won't correct your homework this time, Sammy."

"Hey," Sam & I greet, getting our homework out, well, _I _get my homework out. Sam just sits there watching Drew & Jerry.

"Sam," I smack her, "homework!" She grunts in annoyance.

"Stupid Briggs & her brown nose lump," she grumbles.

"Yes, Ms. Briggs is a horrible person, but _all_ teachers assign homework," I point out.

"Blegh," she sticks her tongue out. Ah, Sam.

"Hey, I got a text from Spencer, I brought my camera!" Freddie calls, entering our apartment.

"Hey, Freddie," I greet.

"Nub," Sam acknowledges.

"'Sup, Freddley?" Ben nods.

"Deado Freddo!" Spencer shouts, running up to Freddie.

"Deado Freddo?" Freddie asks in horror.

"That wasn't a good nickname," Spence murmurs.

"Deado Freddo?" Freddie repeats.

"Shut it, Freddo," Ben says.

"Or I will make you deado," Sam adds. They high five each other from opposite sides of the couch, not looking up from their homework.

"We should have something to say when we high five or fist bump after insulting people together," Ben says.

"We could combine our names," Sam shrugs.

"So, Bam?" Ben asks.

"Yeah," Sam nods.

"Bam," I repeat. "Like a couple name?"

"Eh," they shrug, "it's for dual insults."

"Hey, Freddie!" Sam shouts, looking at Freddie holding his camera up in the kitchen, smiling brightly and standing on one leg. Artists are weird, at least, they make people do weird things. "You look even nubbier than usual!"

"Ah, Sam. So kind," Ben sarcastically smiles. I nod in agreement. "You gotta love her."

"Then how come _I _don't?" Freddie asks, scowling.

"Because she hates you," Ben says, "get me a root beer?"

"No, I will not get you a root beer!" Freddie exclaims.

"Boy," Sam growls.

"Diet or regular?" Freddie asks.

"Regular," Ben & Sam respond.

"Get me a diet, please," I say.

"Sure, Carly," he perks up.

"Then repose for my sculpture of people!" Spencer exclaims, running to the bathroom.

"Hey, Ben, Freddie, you guys wanna stay for dinner?" I offer.

"Sure," Ben nods as Freddie positively responds in Spanish.

"Why don't I get a dinner invitation?" Sam asks.

"You usually eat dinner here anyways, Sam," I laugh.

"That's very true," she agrees.

"Yeah, it really is," Ben murmurs.

"Hey, what'd you get for number six?" I ask.

"I'm not actually doing my homework," Sam laughs.

"Sam! I told you, you have to do your homework!" I tell her.

"Yeah, yeah, Ben, numero sixo?" She prompts.

"You can't just add 'o' to everything and expect it to be Spanish," Ben tells her.

"Who cares? I hate Spanish anyways," she scoffs. We end up arguing about Sam's dislike of Spanish instead of doing our homework, I mean, it'll get done . . . eventually. Right?


End file.
